Chris' Birthday One-Shots
by Lilingppg007
Summary: Updated every November 16th.


**Angst.**

_November 16, 2014_

Disappointment. Indignation. Hopelessness. Those were the three words associated with the word "birthday" every November 16th without fail. Every year, it was the exact same thing. The youngest Halliwell son would wake up, convincing himself that _'this year, things will be different.' _He would get ready for the day and head on downstairs for what he'd hoped to be a nice birthday breakfast with his family, only to find that while all his favourite dishes were laid out on the dining table, his mother, his aunts and _he_ were absent. His uncles Coop and Henry would flash their goofy grins and give him a hug and a pat on the back with the words _"Happy Birthday, Chris!" _and the whole family, save for the absentees, would take turns wishing him well. Breakfast was filled with animated chatter and laughter, but Chris did not smile.

After breakfast, his mother and aunts would return exhausted, and his mother would approach him with sad and guilt-stricken eyes muttering the same soothing _"I'm so sorry Peanut, there was a demon attack and I was hoping to complete the vanquish in time for breakfast"_ followed by a hug and a present from behind her back, and a _"Happy Birthday, Peanut."_. _"Hope" _was a word he was beginning to doubt. His aunt Phoebe, being the empath, would sense his unhappiness and disappointment, and sit down next to him on a mission to cheer him up, and aunt Paige would shower him with the presents he'd begged her for. It was fun for a while, but he wanted _him._

In the evening, when it was time for the celebration, _he _would come home for a visit. The boy would look up at _him _with hopeful eyes, waiting to hear the words he'd been wanting to hear for as long as he could remember, words he'd only ever heard in his dreams. But of course, there was nothing. No birthday wish, no pat on the back, or any other form of fatherly gesture, there wasn't even a simple _"How are ya doing, bud?" _No. Nothing was the only thing he received as the man he'd always tried so hard to please simply walked past him to pick up his older brother, smiling indulgently at the twice-blessed as he asked him about his day. Following _his _and Wy's bonding time was family time with _him_, only _he _never talked to Chris, not even once. Chris didn't even know why he'd expected anything different. He caught his aunt Phoebe's pitying gaze and shook his head, signalling that he was fine. Why wouldn't he be? He should have been used to this by now.

He just couldn't figure out why _he _loved Wyatt so much, and never seemed to care about him. Weren't they the same? Chris and his brother were both witchlighters, they both had powers, they were both _his _sons, so where exactly had he fallen short? What had he done that was so bad, he was non-existent to _him_? Why was it that no matter how hard he tried, he was never noticed by the one person he looked up to? He had a suspicion that it had to do with his older brother being the _"prophecised twice-blessed"_, whatever that meant, but was it really that big of a deal? Or was it that Wy looked more like _him_, while he looked more like his mother? He'd once asked his mother about it, _"why doesn't _he _love me?'_ But he never got an answer, only a quick _'of course _he _loves you, Peanut, now run along and play with your brother'. _

Lies. They were all lies.

As usual, _he _would orb out before the celebration for work, and he would celebrate his own birthday surrounded by countless family members, but still feeling alone, unwanted, abandoned. Every year he would blow out the candles wishing upon all that he believed in for just a few minutes of family time with _him_, wishing that he could feel loved by _him_, for once. Every year he would cut the cake with his mother's guidance, believing that '_next time, things would be different. Next year, on his birthday, _he _would be standing there among the crowd, _his _cold blue eyes shining with pride.'_ Next year, he would be able to know what it felt like to have a father.

At night was the opening of more birthday presents and playing with his cousins until they had to leave, although he didn't see the point in getting every present he'd ever wanted when he only ever wanted _him._ Every year he would crawl into the cold bed defeated and without hope. Every year he would spend his birthday feeling nothing but loneliness. Every year, he prayed to the God his mother believed in that he would finally experience the happiness that was promised in _Happy Birthday_. Year after year his hopes were brutally shattered into a million pieces, waiting for him to cut himself trying to piece them back together.

But not this year. This year, he'd given up. This year, the pieces would stay on the ground where they belonged.

Ten-year-old Christopher Perry Halliwell did not have a father.


End file.
